


everybody here was someone else before

by ceserabeau



Series: Sterek AU One shots [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, M/M, One Shot, The Bourne Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3941734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceserabeau/pseuds/ceserabeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he knows now is that there’s a blank space where his memories used to be. </p><p>Bourne Identity AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	everybody here was someone else before

**Author's Note:**

> Bourne AU. Title from TSwift's _Welcome to New York_

France in winter is cold and barren, endless stretches of fields and hills and mountains, all buried deep under a thick layer of snow. Derek doesn’t like it much. The heater in the car is on high but he can still feel the chill deep down in his bones. He wonders if there’s a reason for it: did he get caught in a blizzard once, trapped in an avalanche maybe?

All he knows now is that there’s a blank space where his memories used to be.

He curls in tighter on himself. The blanket Stiles gave him is wool, scratchy; not much use if they get caught outside in this weather. The man himself is driving, fingers loose but competent on the wheel. He’s talking, almost without breath, and there’s something about the cadence of his voice that Derek finds soothing.

“– and you know,” he’s saying, “It was good. Like really, _really_ good. But then it turned out that she was sleeping with this guy from her work, and I couldn’t exactly stay there, especially seeing as how it was her apartment so…”

He trails off suddenly, and when Derek turns to look at him he’s frowning hard, mouth pressed into a thin, unhappy line.   

“So what?”

Stiles’ eyes cut to him, away again. “What do you mean, what?” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “I’ve been talking non-stop for the last fifty miles, dude, and you haven’t said a word. I know when someone wants me to shut up.”

Derek shrugs. “I don’t mind. It’s nice.”

Stiles barks out a laugh. “Right,” he drawls. “My nervous speed-talking is _nice_.”

Derek doesn’t reply; he knows what insecurity looks like, when someone’s been told for years that the things they do are annoying. Stiles glances at him, and Derek notes the nervous way he chews on his thumb.

“Why don’t we stop?” Stiles asks suddenly. He points at the sign they’re coming up on, bright blue with the name of a diner scrawled across it in neon lettering. “How about some food?”

Derek nods. “Fine, but you’re paying.”

Stiles freezes, eyes flicking to the glove box where the envelope full of cash is hidden, ten thousand dollars just sitting there wrapped up in thin brown paper. Then he laughs, loud and relieved. “Glad to see you didn’t forget how to joke,” he says.

He pulls off at the next turning, follows the road up to where an old blue restaurant sits overlooking the highway. When they get out, Derek counts the cars in the parking lot, and inside under the harsh glow of the fluorescent lights, the number of patrons. Stiles makes a move towards the seats along the counter, but Derek puts a hand on his elbow and steers him towards the corner booth, the one with the best cover. Stiles doesn’t question it, just lets Derek move him.

The waitress brings them menus, two cups of coffee with a smile. “So,” Stiles says once she’s gone, “What do you like to eat?”

“I don’t –”

“You don’t know.” He blows out a breath, scrubs a hand across his face. “Yeah, of course. How about pancakes then?”

Derek finds himself wrinkling his nose. “I know I don’t like pancakes.”

Stiles pulls a horrified face, so overdramatic that Derek can’t help smiling. “Oh god, you’re one of _those_ people.” He shakes his head sadly. “I bet you only eat salad and protein shakes and go to the gym twice a day, don’t you?”

Derek ducks his head. “I might be.”

Stiles grins at him, and for a moment Derek can pretend that this isn’t serious, that they’re joking, that this could even be a date. Then he remembers the bullet hole in his back, and it’s like being dunked underwater.

His face must shift because Stiles reaches out across the table, hooks his fingers through Derek’s. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Derek tells him, but the words come unbidden. “I just – I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have got you involved in this.”

“It’s okay.”

Derek shakes his head. “It’s _not_.” He takes a shaky breath. “You don’t know me. _I_ don’t know me.”

“I don’t care,” Stiles tells him. “I’m going to help you figure it out.”

Derek clenches his hands in the cheap leather of the booth. “You don’t get it, Stiles. I could be anyone. I mean, who has a safety deposit box full of money and six passports and a gun? Who has a bank account number in their hip?” He glances around, suddenly aware of how loud his voice is, how many people are looking at him. He leans forward and Stiles does the same. “I come in here, and the first thing I'm doing is I'm catching the sightlines and looking for an exit.”

Stiles shrugs. “So what? I can see the exit sign, too.” He sips his coffee. “I wouldn’t be worried. I mean, you were shot. People do all kinds of weird stuff when they’re scared.

Derek just shakes his head. “I can tell you the license plate numbers of all six cars outside. I can tell you that our waitress is left-handed and the guy sitting up at the counter weighs two hundred fifteen pounds and knows how to handle himself. I know the best place to look for a gun is the cab or the gray truck outside, and at this altitude, I can run flat out for a half mile before my hands start shaking.” He takes a deep breath, suddenly irrationally panicked. “Why would I know all that? How can I know that and not know _who I am_?”

“Hey,” Stiles says, cutting through the panic. “Look at me.” When Derek looks up, Stiles is watching him with serious eyes. “We’re going to figure this out, okay? We’re going to find out who you are.”

He sounds so earnest, so genuine that Derek believes him. He just can’t help the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that they might not like what they find.

**Author's Note:**

> Derek is Bourne, Stiles is Marie. More maybe of this too?


End file.
